


the path does not stray

by havisham



Series: infinity tears [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, Comedy, Infinity War spoilers, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: T'Challa versus Erik versus the afterlife.





	the path does not stray

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to the lady who yelled NOOOOOOO when T'Challa got dusted at the screening of Infinity War my friend went to, because, LADY. SAME. SAME. I know it's temporary. I know there's gonna be Black Panther 2-6 in the future. But still. THE AUDACITY!
> 
> The title from Dante.

The last thing T’Challa saw was Okoye’s heart-stricken face. The first thing he saw on the other side of death was --wait, was it death? Or simply nonexistence? Involuntary incorporality? Whatever it was, the first thing he saw in his new (un)life was his cousin-nemesis, Erik, cracking up at the abrupt and untimely manner of T’Challa’s death (presumed). 

Honestly, T’Challa wasn’t one for obscenities, but _fuck this._

“Hey, welcome to the ancestral plane, cuz!” Erik said after he’d calmed down a little bit. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Gotta say, it didn’t take you too long to get here. You must’ve known I was lonely.” 

“I have to go back,” T’Challa said. There was no need to engage with Erik any further than that. He had to find a way to get back to the fight. Wakanda was in danger. He couldn’t bear to think he’d opened his homeland up only to have be destroyed like this. 

“Yeah and you thought _I_ was the bad king,” Erik said, a cruel smile curling around his mouth. “You fucked up, didn’t you? You can see what happens over there, you know. Aliens do _not_ believe in saving the rainforests, it looks like.” 

“Shut up.” T’Challa looked around, desperate for an exit. But there was nothing -- just an endless horizon of stars and a vaguely undulating landscape. Empty of ancestral spirits -- except the one in front of him. 

“So articulate,” Erik spat out, showing T’Challa his fangs. “I’m the Black Panther too, remember that. I get to say if you failed. And you fucking failed.” 

“Yes,” T’Challa said, breathing in. He tried to calm himself, but he failed. The best he could do was to steady his voice. “I failed and I will fix it. So help me find a way out of here.” 

“It’s not that easy,” Erik said. “We’re _stuck_ here. For however long it takes to get _unstuck._ ” 

“You’re dead. A ghost.” _I held you in my arms when you died._ “I’m still alive.” 

The look Erik gave him was almost pitying.

“You’re as dead as I am, T’Challa. Face it and move on.” 

It wasn’t true. How could it be true? 

But it _was_ true. At least for now. T’Challa knew it, even as he struggled against that knowledge. 

Erik shrugged. “So. Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“No.” 

“Then … Let’s go see how fucked everyone in Wakanda is, thanks to you.” 

T’Challa began to walk away. 

“Hey!” Erik’s footsteps echoed loudly across the still landscape. He pushed against T’Challa’s back, trying to upset the other man’s balance. T’Challa pushed back against him, unwilling to concede to anything. It was a juvenile struggle, but it made him feel better. 

“You can’t just resurrect yourself, asshole,” Erik said. “Who do you think you are, Black Jesus?” 

“I won’t reply to that, but I should tell you that I am not Christian so your references are useless to me.” 

“Imagine being stuck with you for all of eternity. I’d help you just to avoid that fate.” 

“Thank you for your offer, I accept it.” 

“Hey -- I didn’t _offer_ \--” 

“Yes you did. We will find a way out of here.” 

They’d been walking aimlessly towards the horizon thus far, but now it seemed to T’Challa that there was a path -- narrow and faint, but still there -- in front of them. Without any further conversation, he plunged on ahead. A few times, he glanced backwards, to see if Erik had given up following him, but every time, his cousin was still at his back, his face as foreboding as a stormcloud. 

“What’s in it for me, acting as your Virgil?” Erik said, after what seemed to be a few hours of walking. T’Challa felt neither tired nor hungry and the landscape around him hardly change. But the path they were had broadened somewhat, wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side.

“You’re not leading me anywhere,” T’Challa couldn’t help but point out. “And you’ve been here -- what, months before me?” 

“Well. Takes time to get used to being dead.” 

“You chose it.” 

“Even so.” 

“I’ve already forgiven you for what you did.” 

“What about _my_ forgiveness, T’Challa?” 

T’Challa stopped walking and turned to look at Erik. Erik was staring at him, his chest heaving, eyes burning. 

“Do I have it?” T’Challa asked, curious. 

“No, you don’t. You might get out of here, but you’ll never have it.” 

“That is too bad. I think under different circumstances, we could have been friends as well as kinsmen.” T’Challa said this placidly, knowing that it would infuriate Erik. And so it did. 

“Listen, _fuck you_ \--” 

There was something tugging at T’Challa’s arm. He looked up and saw a red sting that had somehow tied itself around his waist. The string stretched out to the sky, so far that it disappeared into the stars and darkness. He felt another tug on the string and realized what was about to happen. Erik seemed to realize at the same time. He rushed toward him just as T’Challa was yanked up. 

“What was that about accepting your death?” T’Challa shouted down at Erik, who was holding on to his leg for dear unlife. Erik glared at him. There was no time for clever comebacks anyway, as they hurdled up and away to somewhere else. 

*

T’Challa woke up in a field in Wakanda and stared dazedly up at the sky. It was daylight and he could see the faint glimmer of an insect hitting the dome above him. He breathed in and out and tried to sit up. He couldn’t do it. So he tried again. 

This time, he almost made it. 

Having a physical existence was _hard_. 

“Get off me,” said an all-too familiar voice from under him. “If I wanted your ass in my face, I’d ask for it.” 

T’Challa groaned. 

He really wasn’t one for obscenities, but really. _Fuck this._


End file.
